by P. L. Gaus
“Captain Wilsher should be in the squad room, suiting up. Everyone else is out on patrol, or working the cell blocks.”
Robertson stepped down the hall to the squad room, brought Wilsher back, and asked, “What’d you get from Abe Yoder’s phone, Dan?”
Wilsher sat to finish tying a shoe and said, “It’s all just regular calls, I think. Regular text messages. You know, ‘Party tonight,’ that sort of thing, with GPS coordinates.”
“Nothing we can use?” Robertson asked, standing behind his desk.
Wilsher stood up and said, “Maybe one thing. Abe Yoder got a message from John Schlabaugh, using those number codes. It gives a time, 4:30 p.m., almost three weeks ago, now, and a GPS location down east of Columbus.”
“We ought to get that location pinned down,” Branden said.
“I’ve got Stan Armbruster working on that now,” Wilsher said.
“OK, then we’ve got these interviews,” Branden said. “If Ricky and I work in Interview A, then who’ll be in Interview B?”
“That’s Ellie and me,” Robertson said. “I want her to take notes and also record the sessions. I’ve got the night shift dispatcher, Ed Hollings, coming in on overtime to handle the front desk for Ellie. We’ll see each of the kids first, and play it serious and formal. Sheriff ’s investigation. Official capacity. That sort of thing. Then I want to send them in, one at a time, to see you and Ricky.”
“And we operate casually,” Ricky said.
“Right,” said Robertson. “I want them to feel like they can open up to you. So, get them talking. Maybe they’ll think the official interview is over, and relax.”
“What are you going to ask them?” Branden asked.
“Official-sounding questions,” Robertson said. “‘Are you now using, or have you ever used, illegal drugs?’ ‘Do you know of anyone who has used illegal drugs?’ ‘Are you now involved, or have you ever been involved, in an illegal enterprise to grow, make, distribute, or sell illegal drugs?’ Like that.”
Branden grimaced. He studied the sheriff’s stern expression and said, “By the time they get to us, they’ll be too scared to talk.”
“About drugs, yes,” Robertson said. “But I want you to ‘good cop’ them into talking about what we really want.”
“We’re after a location,” Branden said.
Robertson nodded. “Like I said, the other matters can wait. What we need, and I mean right now, is somewhere to look for Sara Yoder.”
“You don’t think the Amber Alert is going to produce any usable results, do you?” Ricky said.
“It’s too soon to tell, but probably not,” Robertson said. “DEA is a better bet for us, because if English took her, it’s likely to be Columbus guys who did it. Because of the drug connection. Once we get something out of these kids, we’ll push DEA for an action. Information. Something.”
Ellie buzzed through on the intercom and said, “They’re here, Sheriff.”
“OK, gentlemen,” Robertson said, and installed Branden and Niell in Interview A.
ROBERTSON stepped down the hall to Ellie’s reception counter. He came out through the swinging gate into the vestibule and shook Bishop Raber’s hand. Then he counted heads and said, “You’re short one, Bishop.”
Raber replied evenly, “One of the lads is not in my district. He said he would be here, but . . . ,” and he shrugged.
Robertson looked at the kids, each one in turn, and then said, “Who’s to be first?”
Raber got all of the kids settled on benches in the vestibule and said, “Mary Troyer wants to be first.”
A girl at the end of one of the benches stood up. She was dressed in her Sunday best, with black hose and new black shoes. Her aqua dress was long and pleated, and her bodice was gray. The strings of her black prayer cap fell untied over her shoulders. When she took a hesitant step forward, Robertson told her, using an officious tone, to write her name in a ledger on Ellie’s counter. Nervously, the girl followed Robertson down to Interview B, and Ellie came last, with a steno pad.
In Interview B, down the hall on the left, across from the squad room, Robertson asked Mary Troyer his questions. That done, Ellie showed her into Interview A.
WHEN Mary Troyer came into Interview A, she looked at her choice of chairs, and chose, without hesitating, to sit in the near chair, next to Branden and Niell. She sat with straight posture, hands folded in her lap, waiting for Branden or Niell to speak.
Branden said, “I am Professor Michael Branden, and this is Ricky Niell.”
Niell was in street clothes, blue slacks and a white shirt and dark blue tie. His sport coat was hung casually over the back of his chair.
Mary said, “I am Mary Troyer,” and did not question either man’s credentials.
Branden said, “How’d it go with the sheriff, Mary?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “OK, I guess. I don’t use drugs anymore. That’s what I told the sheriff.”
“Do you have any questions for us?” Niell asked.
“No. I guess not. We’re trying to find Sara Yoder, aren’t we? I told Mr. Robertson what I could, which isn’t much, really, but I did what I could. Bishop Raber wants me to tell you everything.”
“Have you known Sara long?” Branden asked.
“All my life. She lives near me.”
“Out by Saltillo?” Branden asked casually.
“Just over the hill from there. My house is on 68, out past Gypsy Springs School.”
“I guess you know her pretty well, then,” Branden said. “Do you know all the kids out that way, or just the ones you pal around with?”
“We all go to school together. Or we did. Some of us are out of school now.”
“Sara told us that there are nine kids in John Schlabaugh’s group,” Branden said.
“I wouldn’t say I am part of anyone’s special group,” Mary told Branden.
“No,” Branden said. “You’re right. But some of the kids who live out your way use cell phones now, and Sara told me those are the nine kids who run with Schlabaugh.”
“Well, if that’s what you mean, then yes. But I don’t like drugs. John Schlabaugh wants everybody to like drugs.”
“Well, he did, anyway,” Branden said.
Mary looked at her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry he’s dead. You can believe that, for sure. But, I didn’t mix in with his drugs.”
“Was it just marijuana?” Branden asked.
“At first,” Mary said. “One of the guys got some seeds. Grew some pot. We tried it. I don’t like it. We’re all different, Mr. Branden. I make my own decisions.”
Branden nodded, smiled. “I like the way you said that, Mary.”
“I’m not trying to be square. I just don’t like the way pot makes me feel.”
“Was Sara that way, too?”
“She smoked enough, I guess. Everybody does a little, one time or another, don’t they? Then, John got something new. X or something. I just never got to the point where I liked it.”
“That’s probably Ecstasy, Mary. Did Sara like it?”
“I guess. She likes one of the boys, and he does some Ecstasy. She does, too, I guess. She went to Columbus once with John Schlabaugh. To see about getting some more.”
Ricky sat up straighter and asked, “Do you know where in Columbus?”
“No,” Mary said. “Sara never said. But she seemed worried after that. Like something in Columbus scared her pretty badly. That’s when she started pulling back. Fewer parties. Seemed kind of distracted.”
Branden asked, “Was Sara going to quit the Rumschpringe, Mary?”
“I don’t know. She just seemed more standoffish. Like she was having doubts. But she likes one of the boys, so that probably kept her in it some.”
“Is it Jeremiah Miller she likes?”
“Yes.”
“They’re pretty serious, Jeremiah and Sara?”
“I guess. She would do just about anything for him.”
“Oh?”
“But you do go to the parties?”
“Everybody likes to have a little fun, Mr. Branden.”
Branden waited for Mary to explain.
Mary said, “I’m probably going to have ten kids. I can see that, just looking around. It’s OK to have a little fun before you marry. It’s your only chance. But I don’t get smashed like the boys.”
“But, Mary, there are evidently drugs as well as alcohol at your parties.”
“There’s only a few who really want the drugs. The other kids just go along. Experiment a little. Mostly everybody just gets drunk. Sleeps it off. But I don’t do the drugs. Don’t want my babies to have birth defects. Nobody does.”
“Did John and Abe always have the drugs, or is that a recent thing?”
“John has been talking a lot lately about cocaine. You know, coke. You sniff it in your nose. He got enough, somehow, so he could sell it around. He and Abe were pretty strong on that stuff. But not everybody was. Not me, anyways.”
“You seem pretty reasonable about it.”
“It’s not like I can move to Kansas.”
“What do you mean?”
“To get married. My parents want to drive me up to Middlefield. We have relatives there, and they know an Amish man who wants to get married. They want me to meet him. But that’s just up to Middlefield. Henry Erb, now, he wants to move to Kansas. But he can do that. He’s got a car, and his folks let him keep the money he earns. He can do anything he wants here and then go to Kansas to look for a wife. He’s already been out there, on the bus, once. So, right now, he’s living high, wide, and handsome, and he’s not going to marry any of us Saltillo girls.”
“Would you marry someone from Middlefield?” Branden asked.
“If he’s a nice man, why not? If he’s good to me and the kids, a good provider, then I’ll have a good life. I want to be close enough that I can come home to visit. See all my little sisters and brothers. Families are important, and Middlefield isn’t too far.”
“You’d be happy with an arranged marriage?”
“I’d sure expect to get to know him first. But everybody wants to be happy. Raise a good family. As far as that goes, it means I’d have to stay Amish. Marry a good Amish man. And I’ve seen enough of the English world to know that they aren’t happy. All the modern things they have, and they are not happy. Not very many are, anyways. And that isn’t anything that drugs, sex, or alcohol can fix. No.
“I’ve had a little fun, OK? That’s that. I don’t need to see any more of the world. I’m going to take that drive up to Middlefield. Get serious about having a life. I’d made that decision even before Johnny got killed. That’s why I told the bishop I wanted to be the first to talk today. I’ve had enough running wild for a lifetime. I don’t need a cell phone, parties, anything like that. Not anymore. I’m going home to tell my parents I’ll go to Middlefield. I’ve got relatives there, and I can stay a while. Meet someone nice. Get to know him. Make a life.”
HENRY ERB came into Interview A and sat glumly in the single chair at the end of the table. He slumped somewhat in the chair, trying for a casual pose, but his gaze darted about the room, and he fidgeted nervously with his fingers in his lap.
Branden said, “Interview with the sheriff didn’t go so well, Henry?”
Erb shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not going to talk about drugs. I don’t have to say anything.”
Niell said, “We’re not interested in drugs,” and moved his chair down to Erb’s end of the table.
Henry sat up, a weary curiosity showing in his expression.
Branden indicated Niell’s move and asked, “May I?”
Erb raised his palms agreeably and said, “If it suits you.”
Branden moved his chair to Erb’s end of the table, and sat opposite Niell. “Henry,” he said, “we’re worried about Sara Yoder.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“You may know who took her,” Niell said mildly.
Erb raised his brows and said, “I’m not thinking anyone actually took her.”
Branden waited a beat, studying Erb’s expression, and said, “The younger Yoder kids said some English strangers forced her into a car.”
“I wouldn’t be thinking they were strangers to Sara,” Erb said.
Branden glanced at Niell, and frowned.
Tentatively, Erb asked, “It was Sara who told you about John Schlabaugh?”
“She showed us the barn,” Branden said. “I’m not sure she knew his body was buried there when she called Cal.”
“And she told you about drugs?”
“She said John Schlabaugh and Abe Yoder made a big drug deal with some Columbus outfit.”
Erb drummed his fingers lightly on the table and said, “Are you sure you can trust what she told you?”
Branden pushed his chair back slightly from the table, putting some distance between him and Erb, and asked, “Is there a reason she’d tell us something wrong?”
Erb shrugged and smiled wanly, suggesting he knew more. “She’s in love with one of the boys,” he said forlornly, eyes fixed on the professor. “Not with the right one.”
Branden held his stare. “Jeremiah Miller?” he asked.
“I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no. I’m just saying that John and Abe weren’t the only ones involved in a drug deal.”
Niell asked, “Do you think Sara would lie to protect Jeremiah?”
Erb tipped his head sideways, saying, “I’m not thinking that Sara is someone I can trust. That you can trust, I mean.”
“What do you mean?” Branden asked.
“I’m just saying that maybe the people who came for Sara weren’t strangers to her.”
“Are you saying that Sara is dealing drugs herself?” Niell asked.
“I’m not going to talk about any drugs,” Erb said, slumping again in his chair. “I really can’t tell you anything more.”
ANDY STUTZMAN tripped on his own feet when he came into the room and fell forward, catching himself on the top of the metal table and dropping into the chair beside Professor Branden. Ellie poked her head through the doorway and said, “Andy Stutzman,” by way of introduction.
Stutzman wiped his long blue sleeve across his lips, and slurred out, “Johnny Schlabaugh wasn’t a bad person. They shouldn’t talk about him that way.”
Branden and Niell exchanged glances.
Andy sat glumly in his chair and focused his eyes, with difficulty, on the thin edge of the metal table. He gripped the armrests of his chair as if he needed a prop to sit up straight. He was a small man, with long black hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had sideburns as long as muttonchops, but no wider than a nail, and he was growing the ghost of a mustache, though evidently not having much success at it. He stank of beer.
Branden leaned forward and touched Stutzman’s forearm lightly. Stutzman jerked his arm away.
Branden said, “Are you going to be OK, Andy?”
Stutzman craned his gaze around to find Branden and said, “I’m doing fine, just fine.”
Branden smiled and looked at Ricky, shaking his head furtively. Niell gave a nod and said, “Maybe we should do this later, Mr. Stutzman.”
Andy shouted, “Do it now!” and then said, more quietly, “I’m good to go. Got no trouble at all.”
Branden asked, “Can you think where Sara Yoder might be?”
“Naw.”
Niell said, “Can you tell us who she might have gone off with?”
Nothing from Stutzman but a blank, unfocused stare into middle space.
Branden said, “You do know that John Schlabaugh has been murdered?”
Stutzman groaned, “Why do
es everybody keep reminding me of that?”
“What’s wrong, Andy?” Branden said.
“Wrong? Nothin’s wrong. Just, is all, you know. The best guy in the world, Johnny Schlabaugh.”
“You liked him a lot,” Niell said. “Why not help us find who killed him?”
“Loved him! Best friend in the world. Johnny knew how to live! Knew fun, Johnny Schlabaugh. Best guy in the world.”
Branden got Niell’s attention and gave a sad shake of his head.
“OK, Andy,” Niell said. “That’s going to be all for today.”
THE other two boys, Ben Troyer and John Miller, each took their walks down to Interview B and then Interview A, and after an hour, the men and Ellie had finished talking with all of them. Robertson parked Niell and Branden in his office and walked Ellie down to her counter. Bishop Raber was still there, but all the kids had left. Robertson smiled and said, “I appreciate your help, Bishop.”
Raber nodded wordlessly, and turned to leave. Reconsidering, he turned back to Robertson and said, “Did they tell you anything that will be useful in finding Sara Yoder?”
Robertson said, “If they did, it will have been in the second interview with Sergeant Niell and the professor. That’s what we’re going to talk about now.”
“If they need to tell you more?” Raber asked.
“I’ll get in touch with you. How can I reach you?”
“Cal Troyer is going to stay with us for a few days. You can call his cell phone.”
With Niell and Branden back in his office, Robertson said, “I got nothing. What’d you two get?”
“We can forget Andy Stutzman for now,” Branden said.
Robertson nodded. “Clearly.”
“We got a weird something from Henry Erb,” Ricky said.
Robertson waited.
Niell said, “Henry Erb suggested that Sara and Jeremiah were more involved in the drug business than Sara Yoder indicated to the professor.”
“He’s in love with her, too,” Branden said. “I don’t know how much we can trust him.”
“What else did you get?” Robertson asked. “From the other kids.”
Ricky took a straight-backed chair in front of Robertson’s desk and said, “They all knew that John Schlabaugh and Abe Yoder had set themselves up to sell cheap drugs. Some of them were afraid, getting out of the mix while they could. Going back home, so to speak.”
